


The First Meeting of Dr. Jonathan Crane and Edward Nygma

by Toacho



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bomb-Maker Edward Nygma, Edward's First Murder, Explosives, Gen, Jonathan Crane and Scarecrow are Different People, M/M, Manipulation, Mastermind Edward Nygma, Mechanic Edward Nygma, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-Perfected Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Professor Jonathan Crane, Profiler Jonathan Crane, References to gunpowder plot, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Southern Jonathan Crane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toacho/pseuds/Toacho
Summary: Dear Johnson,It’s been a while since we’ve talked. You know the gift that I mentioned a while back? It's almost ready; let's meet.Sincerely, Robert.Edward Nygma is tired of being overlooked and intends to do something memorable. Jonathan Crane is merely caught in the crossfires. The first meeting between the famed rogues; the Riddler and the Scarecrow.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 26
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Graphic Depictions of Violence & Strong Language  
> This is a prologue and is not necessarily required for understanding the rest of the story.

There are plenty of appropriate times and places for a joke. A quiet bus stop, a restaurant, even a well-placed jab at a close friend’s weight is acceptable as long as it is performed under the proper circumstances and you are willing to deal with the natural consequences to such rude comments. Jokes are, by definition, intended to earn laughter without a second thought. So where better to place a joke then neatly at the start of a story about a man whose entire identity staked itself on second thoughts and a man without a sense of humor.

It is said that 96% of the internet consists of websites that you cannot trace from a plain old search engine. Red Rooms, secret poison markets, hitmen for hire. They’re not all that scary, though. In fact, one of these such websites happened to be a quiet little site where you could talk to the more private members of Gotham’s shut-in recluse population. One of these such members — one of the less quiet, less shut-in, less reclusive members — was a genius engineer and most notably, a bomb-maker.

A real precise guy, a genius of his craft. He could plan out entire complex systems all in his head and scribble them onto paper without ever forgetting a single wire or pin. Of course, not everyone on the forum thought he was for real. Some thought he was just another guy trying to prove himself to a forum full of strangers. So one guy, a failed out college student, asks him to make a bomb to prove himself.

“Just a bomb? Nothing else?” The genius asks.

“What, is that too much?” Fail-out taunts.

“Not at all,” Genius responds smoothly, sure of his own craft.

So the bomb-maker sits down and imagines his system; all the wires, pins, and every little mechanic to it. Then he orders everything he needs down to the exact measurement and piece, not a single spare because he knows he won’t need it. At the end of the week, he finishes his bomb, a real beautiful thing, exactly as he had imagined it.

He messages the fail-out with a picture. “I told you I could make it.”

“I don’t believe you.” Fail-out says. “It’s just a car part,” Fail-out insists.

“Fine,” says the genius with a lot to prove. “Start following the news.”

So the next night, the bomb-maker goes into the city, bomb tucked neatly inside a backpack and a lot to prove. So he — …

Fuck. I messed it up. Ok, let’s try a different one. Forget about the bomb, a woman is traveling with her dog to a friend’s house on a train that doesn’t allow two things; dogs and smoking.

The woman cleverly decides to hide the dog inside her purse and she purchases a ticket then boards without anyone noticing. On the train, as one of the maintenance workers exits the front cart, she notices a little bit of smoke and realizes they’re smoking. Relieved by this fact, she figures they won’t be as harsh if they find the dog.

So, when the dog quietly barks as the man collects everyone’s tickets, she’s not as worried as she really should be. Unfortunately, he notices and takes the purse from her, pulling the dog out of it as it yips and snaps at his fingers. He shouts “We don’t allow two things; dogs and smoking!” Then he throws the dog out from a nearby window as they pass another tunnel.

The man then leaves as the reasonably distraught and foolish woman begins sobbing, returning to the front of the train and sighing as he opens a door, cigarette smoke drifting out from the entrance.

There’s nothing waiting for him. His coworker remains, still caught up in his own cigarette, and everything remains the same as when he had left save for another butt in the ashtray. There is no dog, and certainly no dog smoking a cigarette — that would be silly.

“Are you alright?” Asks the coworker, noticing the way he has taken on a slight sulk as he approaches the seats, taking the empty chair and snatching the shared box of cigarettes. “You don’t look well.” The coworker says as he flicks open a lighter and rests it under the other man’s cigarette.

“I just —” The man begins, taking a short breath before lowering it, staring forward into the rapidly accelerating tunnels around him. “I’m so tired of this — all of this. Everyday is just a repeat of the last. It’s so monotonous. Don’t you ever get bored of this?” He asks, waving a hand to the dark graffiti-coated tunnels surrounding them. “I wake up with a woman I don’t love and come to a job that I hate, only to work with the same people —”

“What’s wrong with us, huh?” The coworker asks, lightly teasing but his eyebrow quirking in a serious manner.

“It’s not that. I’m just tired of doing the same thing. Seeing everything all over again.” He says before resting an elbow on the dashboard, watching another branched tunnel begin to come into view, catching a glimpse of the edge of an unused cart. “There’s never anything new —”

A bright light flashes through the entire train followed by a harsh and deep noise as an explosion rings through the tunnel, immediately met with sharp grating metal as their train is derailed and thrown against the wall beside the tracks. For a moment, the only thing the workers can hear is the ringing in their ears but as it clears, they can hear the scattered and frightened shouts of the passengers.

“Fuck, what was that?” Asks the man’s coworker as he braces himself on the bolted down chair and drags himself off the ground, looking around the room and seemingly trying to puzzle through if he had _actually_ survived or not. “Do you think anyone is hurt?”

The man pulls himself off the ground, a hand clenched on the edge of the dashboard as he finds his gaze drifting out the window and down a short tunnel, focusing immediately on the splintered metal of another train’s hull laying only a few twenty-some feet from them. Even more, his eyes can’t help but stick to the horrible and gruesome sight beside it.

It was human, but that was a fact that was only barely still visible in a bright orange reflective vest under the thick layer of red splashed across it’s front, sides, and what remained of it’s stiff limbs. There was little to identify it, even the man could see that much from this far away, as any identifiable feature was darkened both by the dim lights and the gore that hid its face.

On the wall behind the mass slumped on the ground with pieces of rubble and shrapnel imbedded in it’s skin and muscle, it had created its own mural as if mocking the graffiti behind it, dark, dark red splashed across the wall, far more than the man could ever imagine possible, the paint peering out from it behind it charred and almost hidden by a thick layer of dust still settling across the tracks.

“Oh my god,” His coworker says, neither able to turn their eyes away from the horrific sight. “What happened?” He cried out again.

“I think —” The man begins, hesitating as he sees a small amount of movement within the train,a small puff of ginger hair moving in the dim flickering lighting, someone was still alive in there. With a sight like that just outside the door, he almost pitied them. 

“I think there was an explosion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my new project; how Jonathan Crane and Edward Nygma met, as suggested by Diddle_Riddle.
> 
> Some quick notes that I wanted to mention is that this story takes place prior to the canon Batman/DCU universe. At this place in time, no rogues have made a public appearance other than a few sightings of what would eventually become Joker (However, this story has little to no focus on his appearances,) and Batman has also not made an appearance either. Basically, this is the very beginning to what will become the famed Rogue's Gallery with Edward being one of the very first to show up.
> 
> Additional note! I already have the next two chapters written and am just in the process of editing, so you can expect the next chapter to be up by tomorrow and the next chapter to be up a few days later. Thanks for your patience!


	2. Natural Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is questioned in the hospital after being wounded in a bombing that took the life of a coworker but is unable to keep his mind from straying away from the images of the newly deceased man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Graphic Depictions of Violence, Strong Language & Referenced/Implied Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

Everything was sterile. If he had any less of an ego, then perhaps Edward Nygma would have worried about soiling the room simply by existing in it. However, because his ego had not decided to settle itself overnight as he had laid on the operating table doing his best to not bleed out, he had no such regard for the cleanliness of the room and viewed it as merely expected for a man of his intelligence; thank you very much.

That did not; however, mean that the man had a pure sense of mind.

He had awoken some time prior, having immediately searched the room for a clock before locating one in the far corner that read 10:30. As his gaze turned to the blinds casting thin lines of light across his neck and upper chest, he knew it to be an acceptable but somewhat late 10:30 in the morning.

If his assumption was correct that this was the morning following his surgery, a prediction based around the dull ache in his left side, then that implied that it had been a perfect twelve-and-a-half hours since a man had been torn apart only a few feet away from him.

There was little to make out from between the blinds, his gaze fixed on the thin lines and narrowing each time one of the two men before him shifted and blocked his view. It was undeniably Gotham General, the South side, judging by how he could see Wayne Tower peering over the rest of the skyline. The general ward, as implied by his lack of nurses constantly at his side and his ability to even be conscious for questioning by the useless gentlemen in front of him.

They said something about the train. He ignored them, watching something flutter past his window in the distance and trying to figure out if it was a bird or simply a piece of trash. With Gotham’s reputation for its _‘cleanliness’_ , he expected it to be the latter.

The sun only hit at about his chin with how the blinds were angled, meaning he had already narrowly missed the inconvenience of having it directly in his eyes, a detail that he was rather thankful of. 

Of course, he still had another inconvenience at hand. _People._

People that talked. People that moved, and fidgetted, and questioned, and went to places they weren’t meant to. People who were plain. Ordinary. People that couldn’t just do their jobs and leave the rest of the people like himself alone. People that had no regard for personal affairs or privacy. People that were just trying to be friendly. People that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. People who made mistakes and died because of them. _Those_ _–_ Those people are the ones that Edward pitied. The people that made mistakes.

Edward never made mistakes. At least, he never used to.

“Mr. Nygma, I’m sorry, but we are really short on time.” A voice said, splitting the silence and drawing his attention away from the blinds. Maybe they had been talking this entire time? It didn’t matter. He’d been tuning them out even if they were. “We believe that this incident is part of a series of bombings in the Eastern region of Gotham. We currently do not have a profile on the subject or a noticeable pattern to these bombings. If you are unable to answer our questions, we may not be able to stop the next attack before it occurs.”

Edward remained silent for a moment, his mind admittedly lagging by a few steps. He blamed it on the painkillers. “Bombings?” He asked after a pause of silence. “No, that doesn’t sound right. Gotham isn’t that type of city.” The words tasted bitter, but he made no indication of the foul taste in his mouth.

The two detectives exchanged a brief glance before the younger one gave a small sigh. “I’m afraid that Gotham is changing. We have had three bombings in the last four weeks. Our first incident was at a warehouse on Elmer Street and the second was in a bus taking the Creed - Lyna route, are you familiar with either of these locations?” The younger man asked, Edward just blinking at him, his gaze drifting towards the blinds once more halfway through the man’s words.

“It must be some bad infrastructure. Gotham doesn’t have bombings.” Edward quietly repeated, frowning slightly at the blinds, trying to stave off the slight headache he figured was a side-effect of having his head slammed into a wall from an explosion only mere feet away from him. 

Perhaps that was the bright side to the other man’s unfortunate injuries; they would not need to stave off a headache, particularly when he supposed that the cleaning crew was still likely scraping their remains off the graffitied wall beside the train.

There was another pause of silence that drifted between the two detectives before the older one moved, approaching the blinds and sharply jerked them down, leading Edward to draw his attention back to him. Of course, not before Edward’s eyes drifted sharply across him, noticing the way his tan didn’t quite reach a thin stripe of flesh around one of his fingers, implying he had recently suffered a failed marriage. Edward supposed that it wouldn’t be hard to break off a marriage, what with the older man’s awful temper. “Listen, if you don’t answer our questions, more people could die.” The man grunted, returning to Edward and choosing to pass the other’s polite distance and stand directly beside him. Edward shifted uncomfortably, frowning slightly at them. “What happened in that tunnel?”

“I don’t know. I was doing my job. McKinley was with me. Suddenly I was across the room and he was plastered against a wall.” Edward bit out, adding a bit more venom than really intended, though refusing to ease up on it.

“What exactly is your job again? Fucking with electrical shit or something?” The man asked.

“I’m an electrician. This may be a surprise for you, but magic doesn’t exist. Meaning that someone has to maintain all those pretty lights that are always floating above your dimwitted head. By the way, the reason they float is because of architects and designers, also not magic.” Edward hummed, pulling his gaze away from the man’s sharp glare and instead to the side of the room, his words nonetheless firm. “There was a broken light. Ask my supervisor. I was sent to fix it.”

“Was anyone else there with you?” The man grunted.

Edward sighed and briefly closed his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the image of the contorted and horrified expression, so quickly followed by the mess of red against the wall. “Yes.” Edward mumbled, opening his eyes but still pinching his nose. Every time he closed his eyes, he was greeted with the horrific sight.

He had seen plenty of things in his life. From plenty of bloody and cruel beatings during his childhood to neglectful foster care and eventually to his days of locking himself in dark rooms with just a computer or two and a whole wide internet to entertain him, there was little that phased him these days.

This was real though. Right in front of him. There was something easier about seeing his own blood dripping from his nose into a sink or watching a man lose his head over a streaming service than watching a man be ripped apart right in front of him.

Not even the results of his grim curiosity when he was younger could save him from the horrific sight of a man that had been sharply torn into oblivion.

“Please, you already asked me this.” He said, the first word softly cracking as it rose from the back of his throat, the following words soft and as close to pleading as he would ever let himself come. “I already told you, my coworker was with me.” More of that sickeningly metallic taste in the back of his throat.

“I don’t believe you-” The older man began, quickly finding himself interrupted.

“Harvey, come on, let’s talk.” His partner cut in. “In the hall,” He added, throwing a brief glance to Edward before making his way to the door, the partner following soon afterwards.

Edward watched the door close, eyes flickering across it for a few moments even after it had already clicked shut, then dragging his focus back to the closed blinds. For a few long seconds, all he could do was stare at the blinds and recollect his flitting thoughts and try to relax his tensed hands.

The detectives had called him lucky when they had first arrived, even if he hadn’t felt so lucky. If he had been even a foot closer to the blast, then the trauma would have been too much to recover from; had he not died from the body trauma, then he figured that he had narrowly avoided snapping his own neck on his way getting thrown into the wall. Had he been even a few inches to the left, then the piece of plastic that had been thrown off during the blast would have entered his gut and he would have suffered a slow and painful death rather then it narrowly missing all his major organs. If he had been to the right by even an inch, then he would have been caught in the path of another and much larger piece of shrapnel angled at about head-height. By all means and purposes, the detectives considered his positioning to be perfectly _lucky_.

He, on the other hand, knew it to merely be calculated. After all, he knew better than anyone else, luck did not exist. Neither good nor bad, it was just a tool used by lazy fools who happened to skip their calculations and reach a pleasant conclusion. 

There was no such thing as luck; he had concluded it from a young age long before he had found a mangled body resting only a few feet away from him; just those who did not know how to measure it.

Edward’s eyes lowered to his hands where he was lightly fidgeting, tucking one nail under the other and then scratching the underside of it. He removed his thumbnail from underneath his ring finger and shifted his hand, glancing down at the skin to ensure his old habit had not disturbed the skin and once settled, chose to fold his hands neatly across each other. He was getting better with the habit from his childhood. He used to pick at his nails until they bled. These days, he was much more prideful in his appearance and preferred to keep his nails just as orderly as the rest of himself.

Edward had naturally vivid orange-red hair that complimented his stark emerald tinted eyes, the hair typically well-groomed but having become disheveled by the incident the night prior and now sitting messily pushed away from his eyes save for a few stray strands that were too small to tuck out of the way. Similarly bright red sideburns and the faintest amount of fuzz on his chin, both carefully shaven to perfection. He had a pronounced jawline and cheekbones, but nothing sharp enough to really draw any eyes, and pale skin with a neutral undertone.

Unlike most narcissists – of which he would insist he was not a part of – he actually did not see his appearance as being anything exceptional in the area of beauty. Of course, he knew that he fared much further on the side of being more decent looking than most, enough to blend in but hardly enough to really draw the eye. He did, however; find it to have a lovely trait of which he held at a higher value then any amount of natural or unnatural beauty; it was _versatile_.

He had first learned in his late teenage years when he had stolen a suit from one of his many foster parents and found his way into a casino out of mere curiosity. Despite the suit being just slightly too big for him, he had quickly noticed that not a single person had batted an eye and considered him to be just another part of the scenery. Years later, when he had first entered the job market, he remembered taking on an apprenticeship and carefully crafting a much more plain and drab outfit in order to mesh with his mentor, not only leading him to gain the trust of the man he worked for, but also to be able to abuse that such trust in order to steal a few ideas right from beneath his nose and rapidly patent them just to spite the man after he was fired. Then, a few months later, he had been able to blend in and sway the jury’s favor by donning another well-fitted suit while his mentor had been unable to pass off the lie of being even close to either his or their level.

To put it simply, Edward had learned that lying was truly part of him down to his very core. No matter the individuals he was with, the room he was company to, or the subjects at hand, he was able to apply his careful understanding of each little mechanic and work of society into being a true chameleon of a man. With a little bit of confidence, he knew himself to be perfectly capable of sinking into any role. In turn, Gotham had little that it could refuse to offer him and he could enjoy it to its fullest with little to no consequences.

Of course, it unfortunately had not extended to this present moment. Even he was clever enough to notice the repercussions as the detectives stood only a few feet outside the door. He supposed that if he was quiet enough, he could listen to them, and part of him was actually really interested in doing so merely for the ability to hear their words about him. However, he just couldn’t draw his attention to the muffled sounds just outside. His focus was stuck elsewhere.

A voice calling his name. Him looking over right as the room began to flash yellow. Him being thrown back while the owner of the voice was torn to shreds in front of him.

There was a soft click from the door opening again and footsteps that broke him out of his memories and caused his eyes to snap open, unaware that he had even briefly closed them.

“Edward, we’re aware that you have been switching doctors recently,” The younger man began.

Edward’s lip twitched slightly in distaste, recalling his last few ‘therapeutic professionals’ that had poked and prodded at his mind. His last one had been fired only a month prior after suggesting a few methods to ‘work on himself’. He was perfectly fine. Seeing her had only been a formality. “I’m not sure if I like where this is going,” Edward mentioned, lips tugging into a slight frown.

“I’m sorry, we’re not here to tell you to do anything, but we would like to make a suggestion.” The younger man explained, coming closer but stopping a short distance away as to not push Edward into discomfort. “They are a specialized doctor and may be able to help sort through any emotions that you are having currently.” As Edward’s gaze flickered across the man, he noticed that he had a small piece of paper clasped in his hand, likely a note made outside of the room.  
  
“I’m fine,” Edward snapped. He really was not liking where this was going.

“Then we would like to suggest it for our sake. You are currently our only potential lead for this case and you may have witnessed something that you’re not recognizing was significant.” The officer explained. Edward’s lip twitched again, but he couldn’t help but feel a small pang of pride. He knew what they were doing, they were appealing to his ego. Still, he couldn’t help but feel some pride in the police recognizing his necessity to their case. “There is a professor from the university who we sometimes reach out to for more serious cases. He specializes in trauma and phobias, but he has shown himself to be skilled at analyzing all sorts of things.” The man explained. “We would like you to talk to him.”

What a strange word choice. So apparently even the GCPD had no idea how their supposed trump card worked? It wasn’t that Edward expected more from them, perhaps he had instead hoped that they would at least be a _little_ less dimwitted. Psychology was a science, after all, and Edward knew it much better than even many of the psychologists he had met with in the past.

The younger man offered him the note, holding it out without faltering as if they _expected_ he would take it. After a moment of hesitation, Edward reached forwards and took it, glancing at the writing.

_293-485-9889_

_1002 University St, Gotham University, Room 331B_

_Dr. Jonathan Crane_

On the other side, another number and the name _James Gordon_ , the dull officer who had handed the paper to him.

Dr. Jonathan Crane. The name sounded familiar. Edward could recall reading a few articles by the man, his most famous being _An In-Depth Analysis of Arachnophobia_. “Jonathan Crane,” He mused, blinking and peering up from the note at the detective. “I’ve read his works.” He added.

The older detective smiled without it reaching his eyes, clearly forcing himself to be friendly. “Good, aren’t they?”

Edward cracked a soft smile, refusing to let it reach his own eyes in a mockery of the other man’s forced one. “I think he’s pretentious and takes too long to get to the point. Plus he uses too many ellipses.” He said, giving a slight laugh at the end. Really though. Who the fuck edited the doctor’s work? A mindless ape? “Fine, I’ll talk to him. However, I have already told you everything that I know. I doubt he will learn anything new.” He said, an acrid taste entering his mouth as if the lie were trying to punish him for his own words.

A mangled body.

“All we can ask for is that you try. Anything that you remember is significant.” The younger man said politely before stepping away and glancing back to his partner. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Nygma.”

He wished the smoke had been thicker. He wished the bomb had blew away all the foundations surrounding the tunnel and that the emergency responders had been forced to excavate the entire area and dig him out. If only the blast had been just a little larger, then he would have been able to escape the glimpse of the aftermath.

As the two began to take their leave, the foul taste lingered in Edward’s throat, mingling unpleasantly with his approaching migraine. 

It was not his fault that someone was dead. Everything had been perfect. He had calculated everything. He had set the scene perfectly. He had been in the center of the room where he had figured nothing would strike, working on a light that he had broken the day prior. He had measured where each projectile would strike. He had ordered and sautered every wire and pin. He had built a bomb worthy of being called a true masterpiece and set it plainly in a backpack at the side of the room by the door where the blast would focus its energy outside instead of into his body. He had only remained inside to see it first hand. His own wound had just been a small price to pay, holding little true danger to it due to his precision.

His coworker had been the unpredictable variable by their own faults. If they had not come to check on him, then there would still be one more person in Gotham today. It’s not like he told them to come by or visit him, he couldn’t even understand _why_ they had chosen to come by.

The taste in his mouth sat in the back of his throat as thick as a clotted lie.

It was not his fault that a man had been killed by a bomb he had planted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert! Please read the chapter before reading here! 
> 
> Some things I just wanted to clarify here in case I didn't do a great job describing it;  
> \- Edward's appearance is based off the Zero Year comics and his age is somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties.  
> \- This is his first murder, even if considered unintentional.  
> \- He works/worked in the subway system that was blown up and was in the cart that was blown up. (Will be explained more in-depth later.)  
> \- Feel free to ask any questions if I didn't clarify anything well enough, but much of the rest will be explained further in later chapters.)


	3. An Exchange Between Two Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward maintains his mask as a wounded victim and attends a session with Dr. Jonathan Crane while attempting to set his plans into motion. Some things go wrong, some things go right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Graphic Depictions of Violence, Strong Language, Referenced/Implied Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and Sickness.

The first night that Edward had shambled back to his apartment, the Gordon officer insisted on dropping him off at his building but Edward refused to allow him to walk him inside, Edward had quickly discovered the extent to his arguably self-inflicted injury. It was healing nicely, but each shuffled movement sent a sharp pain into his side only comparable to his years before foster care. Of course, he knew that such a pain would fade into dullness if only he had not cheeked the pills that the nurses had given him, but instead, he preferred to keep his mind perfectly sharp with no such hindrances. Even after reaching his apartment, a small paper bag clutched in his fist that had been given to him prior to leaving the hospital that evening, his first action had been to flush the damned pills down the toilet just as he had been doing with his medication for months prior.

After this action, he had quickly taken to the olive green armchair in his living room to take a moment to sort through the most recent events.

His eyes lingered on a spot on the carpet for a second. He had been bored, that is where this had all begun. Then, with his eyes drifting to the laptop, he had checked out the usual message board. Someone had questioned him. He had been determined to prove himself. He had built a bomb.  _ Again _ , he reminded himself. He had built a bomb  _ again _ . It was just out of boredom, nothing more. His first one had been months ago, only actually detonated a few weeks ago. He had been getting faster. It had gone from months between building and detonating to only  _ weeks _ and finally  _ days _ . It wasn’t his fault though, it was the moron who had questioned him. It was that idiot’s fault that someone was dead, not his. There had been no way for Edward to know he would be there at that place and time.

Something had  _ changed _ .

He let his gaze fall briefly on the blinds, watching the sun slowly set. 

Something horrible and visible had changed, glaring him right in the eyes and yet he still couldn’t put his finger on what  _ it _ was.

Edward knew that whatever it may be, he would find it before the end of the night. He could not pride himself in his mind if he couldn’t perform a simple analysis of something as pathetic and useless as  _ feelings _ .

He killed an hour, carefully and dedicated to it as much as his usual craft. He murdered the minutes. It was violent and bloody with no regard for the time that may follow it; all that existed were the seconds he knew was passing and his inability to move on from the glaring change, resigned solely to piece together the difference between now and a week ago. He did not think of his craft, but it would naturally graze his thoughts due to its connection to the strange alteration of his current reality. He did not think of the death, instead caught on the glimpses of the body that flashed through his mind, disconnected and grim but _objectified_. He could not catch himself on the details of the fact that had he and the man – he and his _coworker_ – had they not crossed paths, then the man would still be alive.

No, no, it was that other person’s fault. The stupid person online, or at least his foolish coworker.

For two months, Edward had known the man. They had sometimes eaten lunches together, or separately when work did not allow it. They had sometimes worked in the same areas, discussing broad topics due to the other man being the only one with even half the intelligence as Edward possessed, things like astronomy and recent discoveries in space. The man had been just as dull as the rest of the flock of workers, yet Edward had found his interest captured in him due to the man’s contagious passion. Even with Edward’s main focus being in engineering and innovation, the man’s passion for stars and skies had been so oddly conflicting, interesting and simply  _ ironic _ for a man that spent his days working in dim tunnels.

It was that passion that set the man apart. Now, however; it was his  _ passing _ that set Edward’s current mindset apart from his typical stance.

Edward had rarely regarded the consequences to his actions. Each life ruined was merely another bit of passion that he had snubbed out with little regard, though certainly never to this scale. He had stolen inventions and patented them all before people were even aware of their loss. He had anonymously released the identities of online pedophiles and snuff-filmists to the police for mere  _ fun _ . He had ruined – torn, shredded, destroyed, and absolutely  _ massacred _ – lives all without ever taking a single second off of the time they would have on this planet.

That had changed a few nights prior when his decision to openly display just how smarter he was than everyone else had taken the life of a man who had never even done so much to step in his way.

Interpersonally, nothing had changed other than he was given two weeks leave. The detectives had not suspected him and if they did, then they had just offered him the perfect chance to lie through his teeth to their  _ ‘contact’ _ . He could just as easily lead them to himself as he could direct them elsewhere. As it stood, there was nothing to lead them towards him. He would be a free man while his coworker was to be buried.

As the thoughts poured, however; that is where Edward located the glaring change. He had outsmarted the police without even lifting a finger. They had not only full-heartedly believed him, but had chosen to offer him the entire investigation without regard for what he may choose to do with it.

Edward had chosen to stand in the center of the train to witness the explosion firsthand. In injuring himself, he had also planned to draw attention away from himself. It just so happened that this intelligent move had placed him directly within the center of the investigation as well, not as a suspect, but as just another civilian who had been wronged even though he had been the very man to murder the true victim.

He had murdered someone and not a single person had noticed.

Nobody else had taken the man’s life. Not the foolish brat on the internet, not even the man himself who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, Edward had killed him. There was something odd about that fact that led Edward’s heart to skip just faintly, not due to the man’s death but rather the fact that he remained a free man.

This much, Edward was certain of: he had entirely snapped his world in a new and interesting direction. In his little boredom-inspired attempts to put a little excitement into his life with calculated attacks, he had the potential to begin to steadily make something bigger from it. Perhaps it would take a while for others to notice, but in a few weeks, a month, or even a few years, he could strike Gotham with what it had been desperately missing; excitement. Not for others, though they would surely recognize it sooner or later, but for himself.

God, he could make something  _ brilliant _ . Something that would go unwasted on spiteing mentors or random forum scum, something that  _ everyone _ could see and recognize for it’s genius. He had already deceived the police. Let them be deceived. Maybe they’ll be smarter next time?

For once, Edward felt an unfamiliar bubble of  _ something _ in the back of his throat. Call it fear of what he had become or call it excitement for what lay ahead, he would settle for the latter in a heartbeat. For once, he had a direction.

By the end of the hour, Edward was left with a foul taste in his mouth and a shadow beneath the eyes to indicate that something horrible had been suffered but forgotten.

The plan took three days to form, Edward still admittedly lagging behind from the migraines that had only worsened since his departure from the hospital as well as the ever-present ache in his side. It had taken a few materials as well, despite only being in the brainstorming stage, but he had been able to pinpoint the majority of the key points he would need to set into motion, as well as calculated errors that could occur and some pleasant solutions to such missteps. If something were to go wrong, he would have no problem countering it. When it was all said and done, he almost pitied the officers.

Poor things, they’d have no chance.

There was, however, a variable that he needed to inspect before he proceeded any further. He had already met the officers, and yet their doctor remained rather unknown save for a few articles Edward had skimmed through. In the end, there was little to conclude and he resolved that he would need to meet with the man before he could proceed any further.

He supposed he could put the same facade from the hospital on, as it had already worked previously. The same generic dismissiveness with a touch of fright and a whole lot of shock. Edward was an expert liar. He would have no trouble fooling the doctor.

So, putting on a quiet and faintly disturbed tone he had often caught the actors on television using, he called not the doctor’s number but rather the police officer and scheduled his first session with the doctor. After his call, he counted the days until their meeting and would spend  _ hours _ in front of the mirror, practicing like an actor rehearsing for the show of the century.

When the day came, Edward meticulously crafted his most casual disguise he could form for the occasion. His white dress shirt was well fitted but a purposefully cheap brand, similar to his slacks and a pair of dress shoes that had cost him a lot of pride as he had popped into a thrift store to purchase. In general, he had decided that since his former doctors had misdiagnosed him as a narcissist, he might as well play the part and dress well, while also paying mind to how little his job paid by buying as cheaply as he could.

In general, he had decided to dress like a liar in order to pass as an honest man.

The shoes had a soft tap to them as he made his way towards the psychology building and up the stairs to the third floor, having memorized the directions a day prior. He found his way with little difficulty, briefly noting that while he had been instructed to go to 331B, there was only a 331A, but he was able to quickly conclude that they were likely connected rooms. Knocking on the door, he had been greeted with nothing, leading him to frown and wait in the hallway for only about thirty seconds before deciding to let himself inside and being pleasantly surprised by an unlocked door.

Inside, it was merely a classroom with little distinction. Other than the chalk littering the board with mentions of theories and concepts, there was little to tell it apart from any other room.

With a quick glance of the room, he located an open door at the side with a small plaque beside it reading the desired  _ ‘Dr. Jonathan Crane’ _ followed by  _ ‘331B’ _ . Edward’s lips twitched in distaste at the professor’s lateness and with another brief glance to the door he had entered through, he chose to make his way into the office.

The first thing that caught his eyes after he flicked the light switch was the small cages resting upon a table in the corner. Edward couldn’t help but blink at it, still standing with his hand on the switch as he furrowed his brow. While he initially had mistaken it as a few small cages, he quickly recognized it to merely have a divider up, separating the cage into two halves, each holding precisely three mice. The left side contained a few white mice with beady red eyes while the other side held some brown ones or ones with spots across their fur, each side distinctly different from the other. “That’s not unsettling at all,” He mumbled to himself as reflected on the fact that they very clearly looked like that of lab mice.

He stepped away from the entryway and looked around the room, locating some books neatly tucked onto shelves, as well as a few stacks of textbooks sitting on some boxes in another corner. The desk was neatly organized but littered with a few more mugs than really necessary and leading Edward’s nose to wrinkle slightly as he inspected them and quickly lost interest. He picked up one of the books from the desk, glancing to the spine and opening it up briefly as he recognized it to be one of the doctor’s books on phobias, Edward falling weary of it and half-tossing it onto the desk with only enough regard to ensure he didn’t throw it into a mug. 

Hearing a soft noise from the cage, Edward’s frown tightened as he looked back towards it. He couldn’t identify it, but something about the office just didn’t sit right with him. 

One mouse reared up onto its back legs, looking at him and sniffing the air as if questioning him, a rather plain deep brown one with a couple large spots on its back.

“Well,” He hummed quietly to himself while walking to the cage as he tried to push the strange feeling to the side and instead replace it with a little confidence. “My guess is, half of you are about to either become zombies or  _ very _ sexually frustrated.” He said, cracking a slight smirk to himself as he crouched down to gloat at the helpless mice. Either way, Edward knew how to tell an experiment when he saw one, and he did not have much hope for the outcome of the poor little animals. Hell, maybe he was thinking too highly of the professor’s intelligence and it was actually just some old guy who didn’t understand how to keep a pet.

“Mr. Edward Nygma?”

Edward sharply turned around, head snapping to the direction of the voice, nearly knocking the cage over as he jumped.

He was not sure what he was expecting. Perhaps he was anticipating a figure equally mousey to the creatures behind him, something ugly enough to justify the man pouring his heart into something as dull and unsavory as  _ phobias _ .

What he was not expecting, however; was exactly what he was met with.

There was something honeyed and sulken about the man standing in the doorway and something comparatively very,  _ very _ subdued.

His entire structure was gaunt and sharp, from the cheekbones that Edward swore could cut someone to how tightly his skin pressed into each of the grooves of his skull. That same stretched skin that carried a partially tan undertone led into many thin scars all across his face and peering out from his sleeves and just above his shirt collar. 

One thin line of pale malformed skin stretched barely half an inch from the left top side of his lips where it just barely missed the tired crease of his mouth. Another on the right side of his face at the top corner of his hairline where it was partially hidden under his chestnut hair that seemed to have been poorly slicked out of his sight before falling back messily as often occurs with naturally curly hair and cheap gel. A final scar, beginning at his cheek line before curling up towards his left eye and under his glasses, thick and messy looking at the cheek but thin at the top.

Where Edward had bright and piercing green eyes, the professor seemed to have exactly the opposite in the means that his eyes were dark enough that Edward had almost mistaken the man for having no iris. Instead, after looking at him for only a moment before turning his gaze instinctively elsewhere, he had quickly noticed a thin circle of very deep and sullen brown encircling the pupil. 

As Edward’s gaze briefly flickered to look over the rest of the man, he almost felt overdressed for the occasion. A second hand brown suit jacket with a few loose threads tucked over a well-worn dark maroon cardigan that appeared to be made of fleece —  _ fleece for christ’s sake  _ — over a wrinkled creme button down shirt. There was no watch. No ring either.

As Edward’s gaze flickered over his wrist and hand, searching for such objects, he couldn’t help but notice a few thin but messy looking lines stretching all across his left wrist and hand, his gaze only broken as the professor lightly tugged his sleeve down, hiding the marks from view and leading Edward to draw his gaze back up.

“I have a patient with a fear ‘a mice,” He calmly explained, the accent being the next thing to catch Edward off guard after having missed it the first time. It was something southern and specific — an accent he could faintly pinpoint to either Florida or Georgia if not for how  _ watered down _ it was. Perhaps the man was from one of the major cities in either of those states, as cities often have such an effect of distorting the regional dialect, or there was the potential of being raised elsewhere by parents from one of those areas.

In Edward’s pause of silence as he just stared at the professor, eyebrows slightly furrowed as if trying to pick apart some great mystery, the professor merely stared back before breaking the gaze to throw a look to the cage beside Edward while gesturing to it. “I hope you don’t mind, I c’n move them outside if you’re not fond of ‘em.” He offered politely.

“Musophobia.”

“Pardon?” The professor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s —” Edward began, putting the strange details of the professor aside. “Fear of mice. Your patient has musophobia.” He explained.

The professor merely watched him for a moment, eyes flickering across him as he did what Edward could assume was his own analysis. He gave a slight nod, still lingering at the doorway. “That is correct,” He said. “Do you want me t’ remove them?” He repeated in that same watered down accent.

Edward blinked, taking one final second to compose himself before shaking his head and pushing his hands into his pocket. “No, I’m fine.” He wasn’t fond of mice, rats, or any sort of rodent for that matter. However, it was more disgust than any sort of irrational fear.

“V’ry well, you’re Mr. Nygma, right?” The professor asked, closing the door behind him and approaching Edward, offering a hand.

“Yes,” Edward said, looking at the hand but making no move to take the offer to shake it. “You are —” He already knew this was supposedly the doctor that the GCPD sometimes sought out for ‘special cases’ according to Gordon, but he was nonetheless weary. He wanted to be certain.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” The professor answered, lowering his hand without any offense, already turning and beginning to approach the desk. “I apologize for bein’ late. Was helpin’ a student find a book for ‘er thesis.”

“She’s a student, shouldn’t she be able to find one herself? It’s not like she’ll always have professors holding her hand and leading her to her resources.” Edward snappily responded, watching the professor take the book he had previously tossed and set it aside, then taking a notepad from beneath it and a pen. Great, so the shrink is already ready to analyze him. “Isn’t that the whole reason she even went to school in the first place?” Edward asked, shifting closer as he noticed Jonathan writing something already, trying to peer over the mugs but the page flipping before he could. He frowned slightly.

Jonathan glanced back up and calmly gestured to a seat across from the desk. “The psychology community is rather keen ‘n sharing knowledge. No point t’ keeping resources fer’ ourselves.” Jonathan explained. “I’ve ‘eard that inventors aren’t that big on sharin’ though.”

Edward’s frown deepened and he remained in place.

Dr. Crane offered a small smile as he glanced back to him through his glasses. “Jus’ a joke. My apologies.”

“It’s not a very good one, is it?” Edward said, lingering in his current spot by the cage for one more moment before approaching the desk and taking a seat. “So you have my file?”

“I have th’ one from Ms. Ainsley, Mrs. Mackley, Ms. Nichodemia an’ a summary of some of Mrs. Baker’s notes though unfortunately not th’ file due t’ it being closed.” He explained, reaching to one of the drawers and removing a thick file tucked inside his desk, a few other folders tucked inside it. “Mrs. Baker was your social worker from th’ Ackermann New York Foster Care system, correct?” Jonathan peered up from the folder after opening it and glancing over it for a moment.

Edward narrowed his eyes, not quite sure how this related to the recent incident. “Correct,” He affirmed. “How is that relevant though?”

“The foster care system is notoriously difficult to get files from. ‘f there is anything important from inside it, I can’t access it without a lot of pullin’ strings, even ‘f you consent for me to try and get them.” Jonathan explained.

Good. Edward didn’t want this freak anywhere near his old files.

“Jus’ let me know if there’s anything I should know and we c’n work as we go.”

“I’m only here to prove that I don’t remember anything else from the incident,” He answered sharply. Part of him wanted the professor to recognize the beauty of the white lie, even if it meant revealing his own plot, just for the satisfaction of the other man knowing how brilliant he was. Of course, that did not imply that he  _ actually _ wanted to reveal a single thing. Not yet. He wanted the professor to play along without even realizing it right up until he realized that he had sufficiently screwed himself over.

“That’s not how psychology works.”

Edward’s eyes immediately fell back on the professor, Edward’s jaw tightening instinctively. Of course that’s how psychology worked. Sure, not all of it worked that way, it’s a diverse field, but he really didn’t know anything else from the incident and he surely would not be telling the other man what he  _ did _ know.

“Memories tend t’ get mixed together. We c’n focus on the bombing, but if somethin’ else comes up, it’s best not to skim over it,” The professor elaborated.

Edward hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes briefly and giving a small sigh. “Fine,” He said, quickly opening one eye though. “I can’t help but notice your accent, where are you from? I knew someone from South Carolina, the dialect seems kind of similar.” Edward said, turning his attention to the odd trait and choosing to lie through his teeth for a reaction. He never met anyone from South Carolina but he knew fully well that there were differences in the accents.

It was an old psychology trick he learned. If you really want an answer from someone, give them an incorrect statement.

“Tennessee, but you were close,” Jonathan said without even raising his glance from the folder, still skimming over it briefly. What, did he not read it before Edward got here? More notably, however, was the fact that now Edward knew he was not the only liar in the room. Interesting, lying about someone’s place of origin.

“Alright,” The professor begins, breaking Edward’s focus away from the strange lie, finally looking back up and locking eyes with Jonathan. Just looking at the doctor was enough to give him the creeps. “As I’m sure you’ve already discussed with th’ officers, I was asked by officer Gordon t’ assist in the investigation of the recent bombings. My primary goal is t’ try an’ unlock any suppressed memories —”

“I do not have any,” Edward interrupted.

“You’d be surprised what fear an’ trauma decides to hide in our subconscious minds.” The doctor immediately responded almost as if he had been expecting the words even before they left his mouth. Maybe he had been expecting them?

Edward waited a moment, brow still slightly furrowed, and shifted in his seat to cross his legs. For a moment, his gaze flickered off to the side again, trying desperately to escape the other man’s sharp stare. “So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and you just ask questions that I’ve already been asked? That will  _ certainly _ not be a waste of my time.”

He brought up his gaze after a moment of silence followed by a pen against paper filled the quiet room, again, peering to the paper to try and read the note before the man neatly set his pen right over his own writing, effectively hiding it. When Edward frowned while staring at the pen, he heard a soft sigh and brought his eyes back to the man sitting in front of him, still staring him down with that trained professor stare. Edward’s lip twitched in distaste and he shifted back in his seat, pretending that he hadn’t just been craning his entire body forward to read the man’s writing upside down.

“Yes, I’ll be asking some questions, however; it’ll likely be different than the methods used by th’ officers tha’ talked to you ‘few days ago.” Dr. Crane explained, standing up and beginning to stray behind Edward’s seat, drawing the genius’ gaze as he moved across the room and began shuffling through an old cabinet, eventually retrieving a small candle with a metallic casing. When he returned and pulled a lighter from his desk, Edward couldn’t help but notice that despite the thin layer of dust across the top, it looked like it had hardly been used more than a few times. Edward supposed he could already see why, with a casing of metal, he had no doubt that it was difficult to handle and simply impractical despite its aesthetic appearance.

“I’m surprised you haven’t burned yourself on that thing,” Edward hummed as he watched the other man crane it to the side and push the small lighter through the top, seeming to move with faint experience as he cupped his hand overtop of it for a moment in a trained move. Perhaps the professor was a smoker, or at least used to be? It would explain the faint rasp in his voice.

“Mm,” The professor hummed thoughtfully before overturning an empty mug and briefly gesturing to a spot beneath it where the dark wood had a strange light patch where the paint had been burned off. “Desk wasn’t as lucky.” He said before setting the mug back down with the rim on the desk and then setting the candle onto the flat bottom to avoid burning the desk further. “Are you familiar with the term ‘critical incident debriefing’?” Dr. Crane asked as he sat back down, reaching a bony hand across the desk and pushing the candle closer towards Edward so that it was nearly under him.

Edward’s gaze twitched briefly towards the candle before falling back on the professor. “Of course, it’s where a therapist encourages a victim to speak openly and directly about a traumatic experience.” He explained, frown lingering on his expression. “That type of therapy has recently come upon large amounts of criticism from the psychology community. I’ve read the articles. But of course, you’re a doctor yourself, you must be aware of that fact.”

“C’n be bad, but for scenarios where th’ trauma has had little impact ‘n the individual, th’n it can be good for getting results quick, but surely ya’ know that since ya’ read th’ articles.” Another jab at Edward with his own words, who did this professor think he was?

On the bright side, even the professor seemed to acknowledge that Edward was  _ not _ traumatized. If nothing else, it was a light stroke to his ego that was very much appreciated.

Edward blinked at him for a moment, his arms neatly folded and legs carefully crossed. With a moment of hesitation, he gestured to the candle. “So what, is this supposed to put me into some sort of trance?” He asked, the candle seeming to be unscented save for a slightly dusty metallic scent that naturally drifted off the casing as it heated.

“I heard th’ news. Half a’ the cart was taken off from th’ explosion. Must’ve had a rather distinct smell.”

Edward considered it for a moment, glancing back to the candle and actually taking a second to smell the unpleasant scent drifting off it. It was hardly like the metallic stench from the cart following the explosion — that had been much more smoke and the metal had still been distinct from the stench of blood, but even Edward had to admit that it was at least reminiscent of it. He would not admit, however; that the professor’s little trick was actually rather clever. Whether it worked or not was a different note. “Alright,” Edward said, still watching the flame dance for another moment before drawing his focus back to the professor, still keenly staring at him. Creepy. “Now what?”

“Close ‘yer eyes.” Jonathan said, reaching for his pen and beginning to make a note, Edward briefly glanced at the pad but restrained himself from trying one more time to read his words. He’d already failed twice now and would rather not give the other man more reason to keep hiding his notes. Besides, Edward figured he’d be able to catch a glance at a later point when the doctor turned his back.

Edward closed his eyes after a moment of quiet hesitation, Jonathan’s eyes briefly flickering up from his writing right before he closed them. 

For a second, Edward just listened to the quiet scratch of Jonathan’s pen on the notebook. Oddly, he found it to be somewhat pleasant — in the same sense that rain is pleasant — it was merely a calming repetitive noise that reminded him of his own nights spent working on his own little passion projects. It was familiar.

As the writing continued, Edward also happened to notice that while the thick walls seemed to block off the majority of the noises outside of the office, he could pick out a few muffled noises from elsewhere in the facility. Some talking from somewhere outside the room, muffled steps from above, each unable to be accurately pinpointed but nonetheless present.

In those quiet noises, he also recognized the faint noises from the cage in the corner where the mice continued their own habits, scurrying about the metal bars. Much to his displeasure, with his sight blocked off, his heightened sense of smell couldn’t help but pick up the faintest tinge of rodent from behind the thick stench of metal.

It was the stench of metal, however; that Edward couldn’t help but focus on.

Thick and assaulting enough that if Edward had any less pride in his composure, he likely would be caught gagging on it. Despite knowing fully well that this was merely a candle, a small ball of nausea began to form in the back of his throat as the stench brought back glimpses of the memory he had been trying desperately to forget in exchange for his pride over his new plans.

A torn cart. A body just outside it plastered across a burnt and crumbling wall.

He felt his jaw tighten slightly.

“Edward,” A voice calmly said, tearing him back from the memories and reminding him just how much he  _ hated _ the other man’s strange accent. “Your file says you have ‘n eidetic memory; could you describe what you’re seein’? No detail ‘s too extraneous.”

Edward took a moment to regain his composure, letting go of the tension in his jaw. Without a word, he reflects back on the scene prior to the explosion. It looked ordinary, like any other cart, even the backpack he had dragged onto it didn’t look out of place from any other forgotten item left by the door to be removed on his way out.

“Each side of the cart has three off-yellow benches, there are —” He takes a single moment to pull his attention closer to the details of the carts he had worked on for the last few months. As he imagined it, he could almost feel his feet planted on the tacky grey tiles themselves. “Twelve poles, six on each side. A single bar stretches across the top of both sides as well that connects each of the poles. The floor is grey and there is a soda stain on one side as well as some garbage littering the floor —” He takes another moment, further recalling the details of the garbage for his own amusement and to further illustrate the depth of his prideful memory. “Three candy wrappers, a cup and a lid with the straw on the other side of the cart, and a piece of soaked homework.”

“Do ya’ know why the homework was soaked?”

Edward furrowed his brow, practically finding himself staring at it. Why was the homework soaked? Well, there was no discoloration, just a slight bleeding of the ink. Drawing his focus around the rest of the cart, he noticed that a few of the seats seemed to have a little water beside them. He drew his gaze briefly to the puddles before recognizing that typically, these such puddles would only occur from people resting their umbrellas beside them on the wetter Gotham days. As his mind flickered to the news of that day, he confirmed his assumption. “It had been raining that evening. We had a lot more passengers because of that.”

“Because of th’ rain?”

“Yes,” What a stupid question. Yes. Because of the rain.

Jonathan made a small note, the light scratching pulling Edward’s focus back briefly as he, again, considered taking a peak at the notes.

“Keep ‘yer eyes closed,” Jonathan calmly said, as if reading his mind.

The side of Edward’s lips twitched into a frown.

Within a few moments, the scratching stopped. “C’n you see anything else? Any advertisements, luggage, windows, th’ sort?”

Edward allowed himself to drift back into putting his sole focus on the cart. This was where all those hours practicing in the mirror would come in handy. The poor doctor wouldn’t even see the lie hit him.

“There are three advertisements for a local dentistry, two for some law firms, an anti-smoking PSA, and two large maps detailing the route this subway takes.” Edward says, drawing his gaze to each of the signs from his place in the center of the room. “There’s one messenger bag that had been tucked under a seat in the center of the cart and a backpack that was in overhead storage in the back on the right —”

“‘s that normal?” The professor asks, breaking through the vivid imagery of the cart.

Edward finds himself focusing entirely on the backpack. “Yes,” He says, a metallic taste forming disgustingly on his tongue to join the metallic scent assaulting his nose. “People usually forget things throughout the day. We just move everything to the back and take them with us to lost and found while performing maintenance, or the janitor comes and collects them.”

“Right,” Jonathan mumbles, making a small note that Edward hardly hears this time. “‘nd what do you see through the windows?”

Edward takes a moment, glancing at each of the four. For a single moment as he looks through the back right one, he sees red plastering the wall, but it was gone as soon as he saw it. “It’s just some walls. There’s graffiti on them like usual, but nothing special. Through the back windows, I can slightly see the tunnel that the cart’s route branches off to.” Edward says, tucking a nail under another one and scratching at his finger as he draws his gaze to the graffiti, quietly waiting for the professor to play into his trick.

“Y’ said there was some graffiti, do you remember ‘ny details of that?” Bait and trap.

Edward stares at the graffiti. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a heart with some wings and a halo — clearly someone lacks an imagination — there is a tag that reads Dullz in orange bubble letters, another tag reading Nelly in blue and black, a green question mark, and another tag that reads Bozz in red and grey.”

Another light scratching almost tears not only Edward’s focus out of the cart, but very narrowly pulls a smile onto his face as the other man make a small note with a significance that seems to completely evade him. “What’re y’ working on?” The professor asks as he finishes his note.

Edward pulls his attention back into the train. He had been standing near the center, working on a light that he had tugged a wire from the night before. “There was a broken light, a wire had come loose.”

“How long d’ these fixes usually take?”

“Twenty minutes. Sometimes more, sometimes less. The lights are rather outdated and, in turn, it can be difficult to locate the exact wires and where they came out from.” Of course, he would not mention that the ‘sometimes’ in  _ sometimes less _ was more like a  _ ‘almost always less’ _ . Only a fool would waste twenty minutes on a fix that could be done with a single glance and a little electrical tape.

He heard a faint and slightly breathy chuckle from the doctor that made him nearly open his eyes. Edward hadn’t made a joke, why was the man amused? “Never understood why there’s windows on those things.” The doctor admitted. “It’s just tunnels. Not like you c’n see anythin’.”

Edward gave a short flicker of a smile instinctively before fighting it back down into a frown. It was an odd transition, but Edward couldn’t help but find some amusement in knowing just how simple this man was. It was like telling a white lie to a baby. 

Besides, he wouldn’t admit it, but he had thought the very same thing when he had first begun working there. “People like to see where they are going.” Edward reasoned. “He did not understand the natural distrust for machines. They were programmed to do their tasks repetitively and with no room for human error. If anything, he trusted people  _ less _ than those such machines.

“Mm, makes sense.” The doctor mumbled.

The scratching of Dr. Crane’s pen bothered him a little less this time, slowly becoming accustomed to how nearly constant it was at this point. “Y’ said there was some graffiti, is it like that in all th’ tunnels?”

Edward’s brow furrowed slightly, finding the jump somewhat odd yet again but refusing to let himself become stuck on it. He draws his attention away from the lights and walls and back to the graffiti, gaze briefly catching on the backpack in the corner of the cart as he puts himself back into the vivid memory of the train. “Yes, the tunnels are covered in them. Usually it’s just teenagers so we don’t really pay much mind to it.”

“I’ve had a few teenage patients, not ‘xactly the most modest type. Y'all don’t even pay mind t’ the profane paintings?”

“Not really. I’m sure you have found that Gotham is not all that prude, certainly not as prude as Tennesse.” Edward hummed, letting the last word roll right off his tongue. After being met with a satisfying pause of silence, he gave a faintly smug smile. “But I guess you would know that better than I would.”

“Right,” Dr. Crane mumbled, not bothering to linger on the accusation. The next words, however, came much more directly. “So how long d’ fixes like that usually take?”

Edward hesitated, caught off guard yet again and forced to catch up. Did he mean fixes like the light? Hadn’t the professor just asked that question? Had he forgotten to write it down or was he just flat out stupid? “Twenty minutes.” Edward answered, tearing his focus back to the light and trying to ignore the metallic taste and nausea beginning to bubble in the back of his throat.

“Did y’ see anyone else in the tunnel?”

He turned his gaze sharply to the two back windows, briefly catching on the backpack and flash of red on the wall. For a second, in that single fleeting moment of his eyes turning towards the tunnel, he imagines he catches just a sliver of a figure near the train out of the corner of his eye. However, it was gone in an instant, replaced by more stone walls and graffiti. 

He felt a pit beginning to form in his stomach.

There was nobody else in the tunnel. He knew he was the one behind the bombing. It was just some fucked up psychology trick that was beginning to dig into his subconscious. He hoped the doctor recognized just how foolish this trick was once his plan succeeded. “I was looking at the light.”

There was a moment as the other man took a note that Edward caught a particularly strong whiff of the heavy and metallic stench, causing his gaze to instinctively drift back to where the cart had lost its entire side, another flash of red in his mental recollection before it was replaced with the same bland graffiti and stone.

“Sorry, but how much time does tha’ kinda fix take normally?” Jonathan asked again.

The nausea edged further into his throat, sitting like a rock. “Twenty minutes.” The fucking light. The fucking stupid light. What kind of moron was this?

“But did y’ see anyone else in the tunnel?”

How the hell did that have anything to do with the damn light? He just wanted to move on from the damn light. It wasn’t even the brilliant part of his plan! It wasn’t even  _ part _ of his plan! Just a stupid fucking light that he had happened to use as a way to come back to the cart! It was just a stupid insignificant light! Why was the doctor so caught up on it?

Throwing his focus back to the tunnel again, he caught the quick glimpse of the figure again, another thin line just barely visible from the corner of the back window. Still, as the nausea edged even further into his throat, he couldn’t help but find his focus stuck solely on the individual. They were not part of this memory. Edward had a perfect memory and they were not a part of it. He had not seen anyone inside the tunnel except for himself. There had been no figure until he had felt the fucking weight in his pocket and pressed the button and then turned his gaze to the side to find a horrified expression from his coworker right before they were torn to fucking shreds and it didn’t make sense for someone to be in the tunnel with him because he had been alone and this fucking sickening rusty metal scent that had filled the cart alongside the smoke that felt like it was filling his entire fucking throat and christ he had seen his coworker but had not even bothered to wait to see if they were coming towards  _ him _ —

“Edward, how long were y’ working on th’ light?” The words were swift and sharp and much  _ much _ closer then they had been only a few minutes ago. They were  _ different _ too, the accent much thicker and the words much more rasped. For a split second, Edward could almost hear a hint of  _ delightment _ in them.

“Ten minutes,” Edward said in a sharp gasp as he doubled over, eyes flying open as a hand forcefully grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him down to force his head into a bin as he retched, the nausea finally forcing its way to the surface uncontrollably, mingling unpleasantly with the headache that had had begun to settle through the thick fog in his mind. “Get —” he choked, reaching back and attempting to tear the hand off the back of his neck while stumbling from the seat, the professor catching him by the shoulder and pushing him back down over the bin. The movement sent another shaken dry-heave through his system as he finally clung to the bin tucked under him.

“Edward, I need y’ t’ calm down ‘nd focus ‘n breathing.” The professor said smoothly, accent thick with  _ something _ that Edward didn’t have the capacity to pick up on at the present moment. “‘old the bin. I’ll get y’ somethin’ t’ drink.” The professor instructed. “Edward, c’n you hear me?”

The words didn’t immediately register, Edward unsure if he had even heard them over the sound of his own sputtering, eyes wide and frenzied at the sudden attack on his system that had seemed to strike him out of nowhere. Each time he heaved, he could feel his stomach painfully contract, seizing as nothing was coughed up other than the air that he figured he would really prefer to have right now. It was those strained movements that also happened to cause his side to burn with each heave.

Slowly, the seconds turn into a minute and the fog started to lift, his body still trembling slightly and wide eyed but no longer shaken with the horrible heaving. The first thing he realizes is that he is on the floor and still clutching the empty bin for some sort of semblance of balance, supposing that the professor must have missed his aim towards pushing him back into the chair. 

The second thing he realized was that he was not alone, even after the professor had said something about getting something he couldn’t distinctly remember.

Much to his displeasure, the professor — Dr. Crane — the so-called  _ professional _ — was currently crouched down at his side with a hand still lingering on his shoulder, undoubtedly taking great pleasure in watching Edward heave into a plastic trash bin. Hell, he had murdered one person already. What’s one more?

Even with the fog steadily lifting, everything still felt like it was coated with a thick layer of cotton. It was a vulnerable state he certainly would rather avoid showing anyone, much less the man that had caused it. “Get the fuck away —” He began, trying to push the bin away sharply and while dragging himself off the ground, only to feel the bin pushed back under his chin and be yanked back down by his shoulder as another heave wrecked through his body caused by his own quick movement.

He heard a soft sigh from beside him and after a second or two of coughing pathetically into the bin, the doctor’s hands left the bin and the other man’s shoulder. Edward tried to follow him with his gaze but quickly gave up as the movement only worsened his nausea.

It took a bit long for the doctor to return, though he thankfully had not returned empty handed this time and offered him a small paper cup of water once the sputtering had died back down again. Despite Edward’s current hatred for the man, he took the drink and took a few sips, setting it down briefly as he felt another wave of nausea that thankfully did not send him into another fit, only picking up the drink and quickly finishing the last couple of gulps.

After finishing it and staving off another fit, he carefully tore his gaze to the professor crouching patiently a couple of feet away from him and offered him a hatred-filled glare. “What the fuck —” He began, pausing in the middle as the words caused a slight amount more sickness, only finishing once a couple of long minutes later when he had composed himself enough to decide he no longer needed to be cradling the damn trash can like a baby, pushing it sharply backwards where the other man politely took it and set it beside the desk. At least his pride was still somewhat intact. Nothing had come up. “What the fuck was that?” Edward asked between breaths, glaring up at the man. **  
**

The professor looked at him in silence, staring down through his glasses and causing a slight chill to seep through Edward’s spine. Eventually, he spoke, the thick accent having shifted back to it’s same form that often faltered between oddly formal and watered-down hillbilly. “How long has it been since you’ve last ‘ad a panic attack?”

That’s it. The next bomb was going to be right under this moron’s seat.

Still, he couldn’t help but be a bit surprised by the deduction. Even despite years having passed since the incident, his last episode of this scale had been similarly during a session with some quack therapist who had been even less of a professional and said something that had set him off that unfortunately Edward could not recall. He had dropped the therapist within the first meeting.

Needless to say, Jonathan was not the first therapist to set off this particularly annoying quirk.

“Years,” Edward finally growled out, nausea beginning to finally settle, the dull ache in the back of his head still lingering. “I would have prefered it to be at least a decade — no thanks to you.”

Jonathan offered him a thin and polite smile that sent another chill down his spine before the man calmly offered his hand. “I sincerely ‘pologize.”

Edward hesitated, glancing briefly to the extended limb and considering it for a moment before reaching up and accepting it. Naturally, he did not trust the man, but this was no sign of trust. No, this was a sign of pure malice and the doctor didn’t even realize it. He wanted the doctor to get close. He wanted him to believe him. Hell, Edward would even let the man pity him. At the end of the day, Edward was the one who would come out of this perfectly fine. This poor despicable doctor would be sincerely sorry.  _ Actually _ sincerely sorry.

Jonathan tugged him off the ground, Edward placing a hand on the desk to brace himself, the movement sending another burning ache into his side. As soon as he was up, the doctor broke the contact and moved behind his desk, neatly collecting the folders and the notebook — Edward particularly noticing how he placed the folder on top of the notebook — and then bends just slightly to blow the candle out before pushing the candle and mug back to the side of his desk and taking a seat, looking expectantly to Edward.

Edward blinked at him, briefly opening his mouth before closing it. Surely the doctor was joking? He didn’t really intend for Edward to keep going after  _ that _ , did he? Edward could hardly even clear the fog in his head enough to remember the conversation that had led up to the episode. “You’re joking,” Edward said flatly. “I’m not continuing this fucking session after whatever  _ that _ was!” He shouted, letting his composure slip as he gestured to the floor where he had just been sitting, his shouting putting his headache in no better of a condition.

“We were on an ‘portant topic,” Jonathan calmly stated as if it was obvious that they would continue.

Edward stared at the man dumbly. Surely he couldn’t be  _ this _ stupid? Edward suspected that any homeless man off the streets could be a more professional therapist then this freak. Isn’t empathy part of the fucking job description? “I can hardly even remember what we were talking about, I refuse to continue if you’re just going to push me into another fit!”

The doctor seemed completely unperturbed by the yelling, just watching him closely like a scientist with a mouse. “I apologize for pushin’ you, please let m’ know if you’re ever feeling unwell, I’m not a mind reader.” Dr. Crane answered without missing a beat. “As for what we were talking about, I ‘sked you if y’ saw anyone ‘side the tunnel with you.” He said in a plain tone.

Edward hesitated. Something seemed off. Even with the fog still thick in his head, he knew that there had been  _ something _ significant that had occurred prior to his episode, but he also knew that he had been the only one inside the tunnel at the time. There was no viable explanation for —  _ oh. _

The nausea returned, but much more subtle this time, this time deciding to sit on his tongue like a bad taste in the mouth. He had seen his coworker out of the corner of his eye without even recognizing them. He had seen them and yet had still chosen to press the button just to see what would happen. He was, as he had been attempting to reason against or excuse, a murderer.

“Edward?” Jonathan’s voice drew him back to the present, Edward still standing a short distance away from the desk.

He blinked and slowly approached the desk, mind torn between the figure he had briefly caught and the bloodied mass that had soon followed. Steadily, he rested his hands on the back of the chair he had formerly been sitting in, drawing his gaze to the blown out candle as he collected himself.

There was that faint tinge of  _ something _ he had felt a few days ago. That feeling of the subtle change in circumstances, even though not a single thing was different. No, nothing was wrong. Sure, he had not anticipated to  _ actually _ remember anything — he had a perfect memory, why would he? No, despite the awful taste in his mouth, something was going beautifully well.  _ Brilliantly _ well.

“There was someone else,” He quietly said, gaze still torn away from the professor, the lie sitting thickly on his tongue.

“Who’d you see, Edward?” Even the professor had shifted in his seat, edged closer at the end of his seat. He was interested.  _ Good _ . He should be. 

Edward was beginning the performance of a lifetime.

“It was dark and I didn’t recognize them but I was busy working. I figured it was just another colleague.” Edward explained, the bitter taste filling his mouth and throat.

“A stranger?” Dr. Crane asked, staring at the man and waiting for an answer. An  _ actual _ answer.

“Yes.”

If Edward had broken his little act of the poor victim who had caught a glimpse of the so-called  _ ‘bomber’ _ and taken a glance at the doctor before him, then he would have noticed that a faint smirk had cracked across the features of the man across from him, one that dripped in interest as he caught him in a pure — white —  _ lie. _

After all. With a routine twenty minute fix that the genius had cleverly been able to finish in only  _ ten? _ Well, that implied that the liar in front of him had ten perfectly lovely minutes to himself prior to the explosion that had taken the life of his coworker.

The man was not only a liar but a murderer.

Just like with his natural fascination with fear that had pushed Jonathan to his recent experiments, there was not a single way for Jonathan to set aside his fascination with this case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert! Please read the chapter before reading here!
> 
> Another little list of things I wanted to elaborate on but not necessarily include in the story;  
> \- Edward's files from prior to him turning eighteen are sealed, explaining why Jonathan has no understanding of his past experiences at the present moment, but does have a slight idea of who he is as a person.  
> \- I don't have an exact image for how I imagine Jonathan, but it's pretty much just like how I described it in the story/how everyone else does in theirs. (Not gonna lie, his fashion sense is lowkey inspired by Gideon from Criminal Minds though..)  
> \- Let me know if you have any questions! I'm always up to answering them, but many will also possibly be answered in later chapters!
> 
> \- P.S.  
> Okay, so, I really wanted to go into more detail about Edward's memory! I'm not a doctor and I couldn't find many references to this subject, so this is purposefully vague and may have some inaccuracies, but this is how I imagine my version of Edward's memory to function. So, there's three types of memory, (Sensory, short-term, and long-term,) that then cross into the different sub-types of long-term memory. One of these sub-types is implicit memory which controls unconscious awareness, kind of like how many people instinctively know how to make toast without actually thinking of each step. Edward, however, does not possess this variation of memory — at least not fully. Going along with the toast metaphor, he may remember what toast is and how to make it, but instead of subconsciously knowing how to make it without a second thought, he is recalling it as if it were a fact; heated bread becomes toast.
> 
> Basically, with this version of Edward, he is a partial amnesiac that has learned to rely heavily on his other types of memory and has led him to have a nearly perfect explicit memory (controls conscious awareness,) meaning that he is not only able to store large amounts of information, but he is also capable of thinking insanely fast and with exceptional detail.
> 
> Of course, while this helps him in some areas, it also has some downsides. Namely, it can be difficult for him to navigate unfamiliar areas (This is because he is skilled at using his episodic memory for experiences and events and applying them to his current circumstances,) and rapidly jumping around topics and conversations can overwhelm him due to it oftentimes requiring him to shift quickly between wildly different types of memory. Another small difficulty that he has is making jumps between conclusions can be rather difficult. My best way to explain this is through the wet homework reference within the chapter in which Edward mentions there is some wet homework and then hesitates when asked why it is wet. He just can't immediately make the jump between it was raining and someone's homework got wet in the rain.
> 
> Again, I'm not a doctor or a psychologist, I just have a lot of time on my hands and got distracted while researching different types of memory and ended up fascinated with this as a concept, so if you know more about this, then feel free to correct me in the comments.


	4. Of Mice and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan prepares for his next session with Edward while trying to stave off the desires of a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; Depictions of Mental Illness and Implied Animal Abuse.

Edward had ended the session promptly following the enlightening reveal, insisting that he was tired and feeling unwell. After the previous display, Jonathan found little to argue with and agreed that the man should find his way home on the condition that they meet at a later date.

It was an offer that took a little coaxing, but by the end, Jonathan had been able to push the genius to settle for another meeting in three days.

As Edward departed, having remained for an extra minute or two to recover his stomach before heading out, Jonathan gave him a polite smile and closed the door behind him, the genius insisting that he knew his way to the exit of the building despite Jonathan’s offer to walk with him. 

The door steadily clicked shut, Jonathan lingering by the door for an extra moment as he listened to the soft click of the man’s shoes fade into the distance. **“What’a strange thing,”** A quiet voice rasped from behind him, Jonathan’s gaze still on the edge of the door. It flickered down to the handle and he glimpsed it’s reflection in the metal, a towering figure standing just behind him, blurred and dark. 

Jonathan calmly turned to meet it.

It was a horrific thing. Long spindly legs that did not quite seem to fit the creature with the left leg just slightly jutting out as though the limb had been snapped and never quite healed correctly, its right leg more neatly shapen but holding a deep gash where straw spilled from it with a dark brown stain encircling it in the burlap.

Trailing up, the strangely shaped figure continued to distort with more slashes across the fabric and the same deep brown, many of these slashes holding pieces of straw that jutted out from beneath the fabric.

Its arms, while not quite misshapen, held the most slashes across them with the fingers being the only indication of any lack of proper proportions, stretched out and boney with the ring and index finger partially missing on the left hand.

Jonathan could not see its face, but that was nothing new. It had been many years since he had seen the face that lay beneath the tattered and stained burlap mask — a deep cut spilling across the lower middle of the face in a grim smile and stitchwork that forced its mouth closed, a few pieces of straw peering out from between each of the fabric lips. He paid no mind to the faintly crooked angle of the neck. It was nothing new.

As Jonathan briefly looked it in the eyes before calmly passing to the side of it, there was nothing but sunken holes and darker stained fabric on the edge.

“He’s with the GCPD, I’m jus’ going t’ do my job and let him go,” Jonathan said firmly as he returned to his office, hearing the quiet limped shuffle behind him as he approached it and closed the door behind himself, shutting the creature outside.

**“You’ve ‘ready done ‘yer job,”** The creature reminded him, the growled tone faintly muffled by the door between them. As Jonathan turned back to his desk, he paid no mind to the creature now appearing on the opposite side of it, dwarfing the door it stood beside. **“It doesn’t even know ‘t. Should play with it. Let it know what y’ know.”**

“Friend, he makes bombs. I’d rather stay alive,” Jonathan reminded the creature, eyes drifting up to it as he took a seat. 

The creature shuffled towards the desk with a pained limp. As soon as it found its way there, it rested both hands on top of it, flexing its long gangly claws for a moment, easing the stiffness of its limbs. **“Let m’ play with it.”** The creature growled, words dripping in an accent even thicker than Jonathan’s own. It slowly dragged a hand off the desk to point one yellowed talon that peered out from under the stained fabric, pointing it to the cage in the corner. **“Let m’ play with it like y’ let m’ play with** **_them_ ** **.”**

Jonathan’s gaze darkened. “No,” He responded, his own tone taking on a slight sting.

The creature stared back through those empty dents in the fabric before it dragged its claws off the desk, the sound of nails scraping wood filling the room before its hand left the desk and the creature sharply jerked it’s body to the other side of the desk, forcing Jonathan to move back in his chair as it stopped on his side and set its gangly hand on top of the drawers beside Jonathan, tapping on it for a moment. **“Open.”**

“Friend, it’s been only a few days since yer’ last session. We’re not doing this again. Not now.” Jonathan said, bringing a hand to his forehead to push his glasses up and rub at the bridge of his nose. “C’n y’ please go away? I need to put together a record of the session.”

He would put it together, however, he had no intention of turning it in immediately. He wanted to see how the next session would proceed before choosing whether to drop or keep the patient.

The creature just stared back expectantly, doubled over with it’s hand still resting on the top of the drawers, nails clicking impatiently. It was like a belligerent child throwing a tantrum at not being given what it wanted. **“Open,”** It repeated, starting to crouch deeper before practically falling down with a sickening crunch as its strained knee gave out, the creature not even seeming to notice as it tried to dig its nails into the edges of the second to last drawer and pry it open. **“Open,”** It snarled again.

“That’s n’t going t’ happen, move or I’ll roll over yer ankle,” Jonathan commanded, giving the creature a second to move if it desired and choosing to push his chair straight over the creature’s foot when it didn’t, the creature not even flinching and continuing to pick at the paint around the drawer, mumbling under its breath. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you need t’ find a hobby,” He remarked as he picked up the notebook he had been writing in earlier.

**“I wan’,”** The creature responded in the same growl, words faintly muffled and followed by light scraping. Jonathan peered down to the creature, watching it as it held it’s masked face close to the drawer, nails digging deeply into the wood and a slight dent forming at the stitched lips as it pressed its mouth against the wood. After a couple of seconds of Jonathan glaring it down, the creature made a dull scraping noise signalling that it was, in fact, biting at the wood. **“Open,”** It commanded again, even more muffled this time.

Christ, the things Jonathan tolerated from it. “Stop that.” Jonathan reached a hand down and swatted the creature away from the drawers, it scuttled up with a snarl and out of his line of sight. Good.

Jonathan drew his attention back to the notes and skimmed them, most of them having been some casual notes with no true connection to the other man’s words, used only in order to create a repetitive sound and draw Edward into a pattern. One was a note to remember to get milk at one of the shops on his way home, another was a reminder that he needed to hand back last week’s papers next Monday.

Of course, not all of these little notes in the notebook were merely part of his trick, some were notes about how the man seemed to instinctively tighten his jaw right before he lied or how the rapid jumping between topics had easily upset him. Overall, the man truly was an interesting case.

Jonathan glanced back at the documents and he set the notebook down, picking up Mrs. Baker’s. As he inspected it, he rested his elbow on the desk and his chin against the back of his hand, skimming her notes before lowering them and looking at the others. After a pause, he calmly remarked, “It’s funny, th’ closest thing he has to ‘n actual _doctor_ is a social worker.”

He felt a cold and rough hand gently fall on his shoulder, Jonathan not bothering to even toss a glance back to the creature. He knew it to be in a sore mood after being rejected, nonetheless, he knew it to be listening as well. “It’s surprisingly difficult for someone like ‘im to pick an’ choose his medical professionals, particularly when they _aren’t professionals_.” Jonathan mused as the fingers flexed lightly on his shoulder. “Makes me wonder what lies he tells in order t’ do so.” Jonathan mused, drawing his gaze to the side and up at the creature.

It stared back down at him through the gaping dents where the fabric clung to its face. Jonathan watched it for a moment before sighing and lowering the notebook, the creature darting back to the other side of the desk in the moment he takes to blink, still watching him intently and leading to another brief stare-off between the two before Jonathan finally gives in. “If I let y’ have some time t’ yourself, will you stop staring at me like a damned dog beggin’ for table scraps?” Jonathan finally asked with resignation, being met only with a slight growl of agreement from the creature.

Jonathan gave another sigh and reached behind himself, tugging his keys from the coat draped on the back of his seat, flipping through them, he located the small silver desk key and slid it into the hole. As his gaze came back up, he could already see the creature lingering in the corner of the room by the cage, claws wrapped around it with not a single little mouse any wiser. “You’ll still need to be quiet, but I believe that Dr. Anhelliem left a few hours prior.” Jonathan said calmly, opening the drawer and gesturing to the wall he shared with another professor.

The drawer slid open and Jonathan’s hand snaked inside, pushing aside a few newspapers that he kept on top in order to reach for one of the empty syringes below, also pulling free a small bottle with a sickly green liquid inside.

While he usually found at least a speck of interest in these experiments, his mind couldn’t help but linger on the memory of the earlier scene. No, mice couldn’t even begin to compare. This was just to quiet the creature. 

Jonathan needed something _more_ than the mice.

—————

The creature settled down — for a bit. Jonathan could still feel it lingering nearby, just as he always had, even if he could not see it. Jonathan had talked to it as he cleaned up the remains of their experiment, tucking the smaller creature into a paper bag leftover from his lunch and placing it within the waste bin with a few papers above it to hide it from the janitor. He had chatted about what he had gathered from the recent trial and what he would need to change for the next, the creature lingering somewhere out of sight and offering quiet grunts of disinterested approval.

His friend had no regard for his toxin, just what it created, and Jonathan knew it only listened in order to better reach those such creations of beautiful fear and horror.

After the first night, Jonathan would sometimes feel it standing much closer, a slight movement against his skin as it brushed past him while he read or a lingering presence by his shoulder when it tried to peer over him. Thankfully, it did not press its luck and ask for another trial so soon. Jonathan still had much work to do.

The next night, he could tell it was becoming a bit more restless. The creature would quietly shuffle behind him, footsteps heavy as it paced and quietly mumbled. By that night, it finally spoke up, pressing the matter of the toxin and asking him to finish his recent prototype. Jonathan had objected at first, as he had already spent much of that weekend working on it, but eventually gave in when he was met with deafening silence from the creature.

The third night, Jonathan had finished teaching his classes and waited patiently in his office grading papers while waiting for the man to return, his drawer lacking his usual weapon out of weariness for the restless creature’s demands, which had grown into a nearly constant dull muttering and pacing behind him.

Unfortunately, after thirty minutes had passed and the man had not shown, Jonathan had recognized that he would not be meeting with him today and chose to take his leave. The creature had spent the entire walk home shambling behind him with a deadly silence.

The next morning, Jonathan was greeted with his glasses passive-aggressively smashed against the wall and his contacts sitting in the toilet bowl, as well as a text from a new phone number, Edward, claiming that he had missed the session and wanted to reschedule, a little indication at the side of the message showing it had been read sometime at three in the morning. No apology, no gratitude.

While he initially assumed his spare glasses to have met a similar fate over the night, he was thankfully met with the sight of them after tracing his way into his office and finding them sitting nicely in front of his most recent attempt at a toxin. So, with a couple more hours before his classes began, he sat down and got back to work.

On the fourth night, he waited for Edward again, was met with nothing again, used his toxin again, and disposed of the little mouse remains again, pushing the creature back into silence _again_.

This time, it only lasted a single peaceful day.

On the sixth day, Edward did not show up to the morning session, putting both the creature and Jonathan into a sour mood. While the creature refused to stop trying to sway Jonathan into going to the man _himself_ , leading to the insistent and constant growl right by his ear throughout all his lectures, the professor was admittedly more annoyed by the creature than he was the man.

That night, Jonathan lost track of time again, only to wake up and find his office within the university to be trashed with multiple textbooks strewn across the floor, papers thrown everywhere, and the candle from earlier heavily dented sitting on the ground beside a wall with a fresh crack. It seemed the creature had also pushed the cage over, the remaining four mice inside appearing quite dazed but nonetheless alive. Jonathan had sighed and picked the cage up first, placing it back on the table before beginning to reorganize his office and hope that nobody was about to come to him with a noise complaint. It was then, as he picked up the papers, that he found his phone and that the number had attempted to reschedule again, the phone screen freshly cracked. With a sigh, he shook his head and put the phone in his pocket without a response.

He slept very little that night, choosing to instead focus on his project.

On the seventh day, as Jonathan was nearing the end of a lecture and trying to ignore the mumbling creature shifting just outside his field of view, Jonathan was met with surprise as the strange ginger man cautiously poked his head inside the room and stepped in; noticing him to be in the middle of a lecture and cracking a frown before taking a hesitant spot to stand beside the door, drawing his gaze to Jonathan and the two’s eyes met.

The two only briefly glanced to each other, Edward’s gaze breaking after a couple of seconds and Jonathan’s drifting back to the book he had been reading a passage from. “With this in mind, one could argue that paranoia is —”

**“It’s here f’r once.”**

“ — a natural offspring of existing and making choices,” Jonathan continued, gaze still trained on the book and ignoring the cold crooked hand that gently grazed his shoulder as the creature shifted closer.

**“It’s here, Jon.”**

Jonathan’s gaze drifted back to Edward, noticing the man to be inspecting his nails with seemingly great interest and no such curiosity in Jonathan’s lecture. To be quite fair, even Jonathan was beginning to find himself disinterested in it. He had covered this topic twice this week already and this was the seventh resource he was using to explain the concept to the students. He knew it to be a difficult topic for many to adjust to, but it’s not like it was rocket science.

He let his gaze briefly flicker to the clock at the back of the room, the hands indicating that they only had about three minutes left anyways. He gave a soft sigh. 

**“I want to be of** **_use.”_ **

“No,” Jonathan immediately responded, drawing a couple of eyes and odd looks.

He gave another small sigh and glanced to the page number at the corner of the book. “Frederick Innis, Conceptualizing Paranoia, page 102 t’ —“ he began, flipping through the pages to locate the end of the chapter as well as any other potentially useful areas. While he was normally willing to continue teaching until at least a majority of his students understood the topic, there came a point when they would need to just move on. It seemed a few of the students hadn’t even been prepared for him to offer a page number, quickly beginning to scribble it down on their notes before recognizing the time and preparing to pack their things. “— To page 148 an’ 278 to 342, that’s going to be chapters five, eleven, and twelve. There shoul’ be a few copies in the library. If you can’t access it, email me by tomorrow evening and I’ll send you a link to th’ PDF.” He snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm, glancing back up to his students. “Any questions?”

A few looked a little panicked at having to read, a few looked completely unbothered. Overall, it was exactly as any other class proceeded.

When it reached time and the students trickled out, Jonathan passed right by the man still standing quietly by the door, the man briefly looking as if he were about to speak but falling silent as Jonathan ignored him, the professor propping the door back open and acknowledging a couple of students as they left.

“Should I come back another time?” He finally heard drift from somewhere behind him, leading Jonathan to finally turn around and look to the man who had been brushing off their sessions.

Behind the genius, of course, was the creature.

“No, y’ happened to catch me just as the class was about t’ finish,” Jonathan calmly responded, putting on another polite smile as a student wished him a good weekend. “I was not expectin’ I would b’ seeing you again though,” He added, gaze drifting back to Edward.

The genius frowned, arms folded and back still lightly pressed against the wall where he was leaning. “I wasn’t feeling up for a session.”

“An’ you only jus’ had a change a’ heart?”

He shrugged. “I figured I might as well drop by before I change my mind again.”

The man was clearly trying to distance himself. If only such a thing worked on Jonathan.

As the last student exited, Jonathan closed the door behind them and gave a nod of acknowledgement to Edward. “Alright, then I ‘spose I shouldn’t take advantage of th’ moment. Care t’ join me in th’ office?” Jonathan asked, already beginning to make his way to the back of the classroom where the door conjoining both rooms lay. However, when he found himself to be alone, he paused and turned his head back.  
  
Edward’s lips had twitched down in a faint frown, prompting Jonathan to raise a brow, his eyes solidly on the man despite the creature lingering just behind him. **“D’ it here. Go back t’ th’ office ‘nd get it ‘nd show it what y’ are.”**

“Are y’ coming?” Jonathan asked.

The man waited another moment before drawing his eyes to the side of the room briefly, lost in his own thoughts, even if for just a second. Eventually, the man seemed to have reached a conclusion and slipped his hands in his pockets before approaching. “What’s with your accent?” Edward murmured as he passed, striking Jonathan with a second surprise of the day. Surely he wasn’t pressing his luck _now?_ “It’s fluctuating. During the class, it was much smoother, tamed even. Now though, well, it’s almost as if you are tailoring yourself to the individuals you are speaking to. Playing _dumb_ .” Edward hummed with little regard as he passed Jonathan, coming to a steady halt just in front of him, hands still loosely tucked in his pockets and his lips cracking a faint smile of amusement. “Tell me, Mr. Crane,” The other man began, apparently trying to press his luck by dropping the _‘Dr.’_ “You’re clearly trying to appeal to my intelligence by playing dumb, or maybe I’m just overestimating you? Regardless, do you profile _everyone_ you meet?”

Jonathan felt a cold boney hand snake back onto his shoulder. **“It disrespec’s y’. Show it what y’ are!”**

The edges of his mouth curled in a forcefully polite smile, interrupted only by a slight chuckle, as if it were merely a joke about the weather, leading the man in front of him to blink in surprise and his own smug smirk to drop immediately. “It’s difficult n’t to. D’ you d’ the same?” Jonathan asked, passing the genius who remained frozen in place, the creature’s hand slipping off his shoulder. Jonathan opened the door and glanced back, politely waiting for the other man.

Edward blinked again at him, smile replaced solely with a slight scowl. Finally, after another thoughtful glance to the side, he approached the professor and entered the office. “Hard not to,” Edward mumbled, mirroring the professor’s own words.

Once both were inside, Jonathan closed the door with a slight click and turned to his desk, expecting the other man to follow but noticing him to be inspecting the room. Most notably, the man was eyeing the cage in the corner.

Jonathan’s eyes followed before falling back on his desk as he began tidying up. “Biology department. I’m finishin’ up with th’ patient so I figured I’d make use of ‘em. Lord know’s I don’t need another rodent in m’ apartment.” It was a casual lie masked as a light joke and when the other man returned a faintly disgusted expression at the joke, Jonathan couldn’t help but smile lightly in amusement. “It’s a joke,” He explained.

“I believe I’m having deja vu.” Right, he almost forgot the other man didn’t have a sense of humor. To be fair, Jonathan’s entire humor was based on dry jokes from his colleagues that he used in order to feel _normal_ alongside them. He never _actually_ found them funny. “Where’s the candle?” The man asked as he tore his eyes from the cage and began approaching the desk, taking a seat at the opposite chair.

“Thrown ‘way. Metal isn’t th’ most durable material for a casing. Was unusable after th’ session,” Jonathan said as he took a seat at his own chair, papers neatly tucked away and replaced with a single notebook.

“Depends on the metal,” Edward corrected. “Tin — no. Steel — of course.” He reasoned before hesitating a moment. “But I suppose since that casing appeared to be tin, I wouldn’t be surprised it didn’t last.” He added. “So what are we doing this t —” Edward began, stopping only as he watched Jonathan stand back up and begin to drag his seat to the other side of the desk, forcing there to be no barrier between them. “What are you doing?”

“Y’ got sick last time,” Jonathan explained, then leaning over to grab the trash bin beside his desk, sliding it across the floor to put it near the other man. “I’d prefer y’ tell me if you’re feelin’ unwell, but otherwise, please avoid m’ floor.”

Edward hesitated, looking at him for a moment before giving a slight sigh and reaching to the trash bin, placing it directly between them. “Fine,” He mumbled.

**“It’s scared, doesn’t wan’ t’ have an open space,”** The creature observed from somewhere behind him, pacing with the same pained shuffle.

“Are y’ ready t’ begin?” Jonathan asked.

There was another pause of hesitance, the other man looking him up and down before nodding. “Let’s get it over with.”

“V’ry well, close your eyes and imagine what it was like right before th’ explosion.”

He watched as the man obliged, Jonathan unable to help but crack a faint smile. He leaned over again, extending a long arm to his desk to pull the notebook off along with a pen. “Do y’ have it in mind?” He asked, pulling his gaze back to the man and watching as his eyelids shifted sharply every couple of moments, closely resembling when an individual is deep within a dream.

“Yes, I was talking to my coworker. He had gotten some tickets to a movie and one of the people he was going with had cancelled. He offered to give me the ticket.”

“Did y’ accept it?”

“No,” Edward responded sharply. When Jonathan drew his gaze down to the notebook to make a short note, he glanced back up to catch Edward’s eyes not only open, but back on him. They merely looked at each other for a moment, Jonathan waiting for the other to say something and Edward apparently doing the same. However, it was Edward who lost. “It was some superhero movie or something similarly mindless. I only watch documentaries.”

“No shame ‘n that,” Jonathan hummed in approval. He was never a fan of movies in general and found reading to be a more profitable use of his time. Besides, the creature never much enjoyed quiet spaces, theatre’s included. “Close your eyes again, please. I need you to keep focussin’.”

Edward gave a slight noise of annoyance before his eyelids dropped closed once more.

“Could y’ tell me where y’ and your friend were each standing?”

There’s a pause, another shift beneath Edward’s eyelids, as well as a furrow his brow as if Jonathan had said something wrong. Ah, of course, narcissistic individuals rarely conclude that any connections are _‘friendships’_ as Jonathan had called it. “I was under the fifth light from the back, he was standing in the back-most doorway.”

“That’s a large distance for two people talkin’,” Jonathan pointed out. People hardly ever shouted their conversations from across a room.

“He was trying to make me hurry up, he had already finished his shift and I was just about to end mine. We usually sign out around the same time so we sometimes walk together.” 

Jonathan made another note, the board tilted up to hide his notes out of remembrance for how the other man had kept trying to read his writing upside down. “I’m going t’ ask some uncomfortable questions,'' Jonathan politely warned. “I want y’ t’ tell me if you’re feeling unwell. We c’n take a small break at any time.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“Jus’ reminding you,” Jonathan clarified before looking back up from his notes and watching the man closely. He could hear the quiet shuffled pacing slow to a half behind him, the creature’s interest spiking alongside Jonathan’s own. “Edward, did your friend have time t’ react before his death, an’ if so, how was his reaction?” He asked, slipping in another _‘friend’_ for his own amusement, earning him a small grimace.

It was during that quiet pause that Jonathan noticed the faint paleness slip onto the other man’s expression, meshing nicely with his disgust in the assumed friendship to create a lovely appearance of pure _discomfort_. Jonathan couldn’t help but let a smile edge onto his own lips.

“Yes, he reacted. He was —” Edward hesitated again, brow furrowing slightly more as his eyes jerked underneath his lids. “Surprised,” He said, the word falling flat.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Surprised?” He asked slowly.

“Well —” Edward paused again, eyes still shifting rapidly, picking apart whatever he was witnessing. Something about the expression sent a slight chill down Jonathan’s spine, leading him to shift closer in his seat. “Frightened.” Edward corrected, the word finally striking him.

Jonathan’s smile widened. **“In th’ drawer,”** He heard a quiet voice rasp from behind him, another small shuffle as it moved to his side, just out of sight.

“Most people woul’ be. Fear of death’s a common one; I’d imagine ‘e was pretty horrified t’ realize he’d already los’ his life ‘n a single instant.”

“I guess —” Edward began, brow knitting further as he shifted in his seat, moving backwards without even seeming to recognize it. “I guess so.”

**“Th’ drawer,”** The creature growled lowly, something in its rasped voice practically _dripping_ with excitement. **“Open.”** Jonathan could hear a faint scratching noise from his desk.

“Edward, coul’ y’ tell me how _you_ reacted?” Jonathan asked slowly, edging just faintly closer in his seat but lowering his voice slightly.

“Well — I mean —” The man stuttered, eyes still rapidly drifting underneath his lids. He was seeing something that he was not telling him. With Jonathan’s prior knowledge, that it was a routine twenty minute fix that had taken only ten, there was little to be left to the imagination. “I was surprised —”

“Frightened?” Jonathan corrected, unable to help himself. He felt his hand twitch slightly before beginning to edge towards his pocket towards his keys. He could hear the creature shuffle behind him, giving a satisfied noise often only associated with tormenting the poor creatures in the corner of the room. 

Jonathan never cared much for animals, making the experiments no more exciting for him than studying or reading — no, it was these moments, rare sessions like these with plain and raw discomfort, surprise, and _fear_ that truly caught his interest.

He had been waiting for the right time to move onto a bigger game, to move onto something that would _actually_ catch his interest. Something that could actually speak, cry, _scream_ . Where better than with a _delectably_ paranoid narcissist?

Edward’s eyes flew open, catching the wide eyes and smile for a single moment before the expression had left the professor’s face and he had already shifting back into his seat, Edward immediately springing from his seat and stumbling backwards as if he had seen a ghost, knocking down the trash bin as his feet hit it. His face rapidly flushing a few colors more pale as the color drained from him. “I —” He began before falling silent.

Jonathan merely watched him with a combination of mock-disinterest, innocence, and even a sincere hint of disappointment, Edward only briefly noticing how his hand moved back to his notebook.

“‘s it _your_ fault that your _friend_ ‘s dead?” Jonathan asked, words catching briefly in the back of his throat for a second and coming out in a low rasp and thick accent, his facade dropping in a single instant as he openly delighted in Edward’s horrified expression that met his words, a smile returning Jonathan’s lips.

“I need to use the restroom,” The man finally stuttered out, unable to break his eyes away. The veil was lifted. They were seeing each other for who they truly were.

The two were caught in another stare off, Edward’s chest visibly rising and falling just faintly faster than typical. The man looked absolutely terrified to tear his eyes away from Jonathan. So, after another uncomfortable pause of tense silence that Jonathan couldn’t help but _relish_ , he lifted a bony finger and pointed to the only other door than where they had entered through. “Through there, take your time an’ we c’n continue with th’ session once you’ve relaxed.” The rasp had faded, though the accent was still much thicker than Edward preferred.

Edward’s eyes darted to the room and by the time he drew them back to the man, the creepy smile was gone, Jonathan’s eyes turned back down to his notes, calmly skimming them despite knowing the other man was still watching him like a hawk.

As Jonathan turned his focus down to the notes, his curly hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes in the shadow. Still, he couldn’t help but follow the other man’s movements, watching him stand for a few more seconds before taking a few more steps backwards.

Jonathan listened to the quiet click of the door opening, then followed by a soft creak from it’s hinge, and finally another click as it closed and was immediately locked. Only then did Jonathan gently use a finger to brush the hair out of his face, staring at the door as the smile softly returned.

He felt the long distended fingers slowly creep onto his back before trailing up to his shoulder, nails digging into the skin but numb in comparison to the twist of excitement dipping through his entire body. Even as a chill rose through his spine before settling on the side of his neck, a large figure moving just out of his field of view and placing it’s stained masked face to the side of Jonathan’s own, he refused to tear his eyes from the shadow moving in the crack under the door. The chill grew, its breaths rattled, carrying a faint wetness to it that Jonathan only caught ever so often, comparable only to a person desperately trying to speak through a throat that had long been beaten and punctured into oblivion.

**“Open,”** The creature commanded, yellowed talons that peered out from its fabric digging further into his shoulder.

He watched the movement of the shadow under the door for just a few more seconds, flexing his fingers instinctively. “Gladly.”

—————

(So, I can't draw all that well but... Just going to put that shitpost there.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert! Please read the chapter before reading here!
> 
> Adding another little list of things I wanted to elaborate on;  
> \- So, just to be clear, Scarecrow has not yet taken on the identity of 'Scarecrow', but that will come later but not necessarily in this story.  
> \- As far as Scarecrow's fucked up and gruesome appearance, it may be touched on here but it will be explained more thoroughly in a later story.  
> \- If you have any other questions, I'm always up for answering!
> 
> P.S.  
> Since school is beginning soon, I will unfortunately be slowing down in my posting schedule but will still try to update at least once or twice a week.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my Tumblr for regular updates at Toacho. Kudos and feedback is appreciated!


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